


One of a Kind

by 4vrAFangirl



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Feelings Realization, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Paragon Commander Shepard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 00:53:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11956287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4vrAFangirl/pseuds/4vrAFangirl
Summary: Her words echo within him, a soft kind of hum in the back of his mind as the cab takes them back to where the Normandy waits for them. Their sentiment vibrating within him like the subharmonics of his people, the second language she can’t hope to produce. And yet… and yet something about those words, about what she said, and how she said them, they mean more than their surface value.





	One of a Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Want a peek behind the scenes of writing these stories? Got a prompt or idea for a fic you'd like to see? I write for all manner of fandoms and ships! Drop me a note on my Tumblr: [4vrafangirl](http://www.4vrafangirl.tumblr.com)

“I’m with you.”

Her words echo within him, a soft kind of hum in the back of his mind as the cab takes them back to where the Normandy waits for them. Their sentiment vibrating within him like the subharmonics of his people, the second language she can’t hope to produce. And yet… and yet something about those words, about what she said, and how she said them, they mean more than their surface value. More than just an agreement to put some distance between themselves and the Citadel.

To him, at least, though the more he tries to find an answer for it, the more questions he comes back with. Does it mean something else? Something more than the same proud and steadfast bond she shares with all those that serve under her and fight at her side? Could it mean anything more than the friendship the two of them share? Does he want it to, he ponders, stealing a sideways glance at her.

“Garrus,” she asks looking a little concerned. “I know you said you didn’t really want to talk about it, but your--” she waves a hand around uselessly in frustration, trying and failing to produce the word she wants. “That humming thing you do- you sound… pretty agitated,” she offers up uncertainly. “Not that that isn’t understandable,” she adds quickly. “Just- are you okay? Can I help?”

Garrus is temporarily too disarmed that she’s paid enough attention to his subharmonics to notice a difference in them to make any immediate reply or do anything besides stare at her. “You- I wasn’t aware you listened to that,” the Turian manages finally.

Translator programs of some sort or other with all the most-spoken languages of Citadel and Terminus space come standard issue with most Omni-tools now, making differences of language between species a thing of the past. One need never listen to another alien’s actual voice, but can instead hear their words translated and relayed to them in a more pleasing accent of one of their own people piped directly into their ears. It hasn’t been that long since the First-Contact war between his people and her own, most humans still describe and think of Turian’s natural speech and dialect as little more than screeching; jarring and grating to the nerves.

“Of course, I do,” she replies with a nod. “I like to hear people’s natural voices, my friends, especially, even if I need the Omni-tool to understand them.”

A friend, he thinks turning the word over in his head. Yes, whatever else they may or may not be that much he is certain of beyond a shadow of a doubt. And if he’s misreading the situation, if somehow he’s come to feel- perhaps something more than that for her, incredible as such a thing might seem, he won’t be too disappointed if friendship is all that she’s interested in. She’s the best damn thing he has going for him. Besides, it’s not as if he really has much experience being anyone’s significant other, Turian or otherwise. He’d never forgive himself if he messed this up; if he lost her again.

“Have you never heard mine,” she asks, suddenly curious.

“No. I mean, yes, I have, but… that’s different.”

“Oh? And how is that,” she challenges, raising an eyebrow.

“Turians can’t lie, Shepard. Not to each other, at least. Not without a good deal of training and practice, and even then… We- our subvocals are pretty much involuntary. I suppose, well, they convey what you often read from other human’s body language, the feelings behind whatever is being said,” Garrus offers with a slight shrug.

“Do you miss it? Having other Turians to talk to? Someone who can’t lie to you,” she asks, once more disarming him with another completely unexpected query, though, perhaps he shouldn’t be. Shepard has always been far more thoughtful and cared about people than a good soldier or leader probably should, making those tough calls that much tougher, though she couldn’t ask for more loyal compatriots for it. Garrus considers for a moment, then shakes his head. Perhaps he does miss the sound of it, the kind of song, the dance of talking to his fellows, but…

“You’ve never lied to me,” he points out. It’s not a question. There’s not a doubt in his mind, but she nods in confirmation anyway, a shy but happy smile gracing her face for a moment at his recognition.

“So,” she prods once more, a little more boldly now than her first attempt with a meaningful shrug towards him as she steers the cab down to the nearby landing pad. “Is there anything I can do to help you, Garrus?”

He’s never felt embarrassed about his subharmonics before. They simply are. There was no reason to be growing up on Palevan, or even when he made it to the Citadel. The other council races were all well aware and familiar with them even if they cannot replicate them themselves, and most humans didn’t care enough to pay attention. Shepard, though, is not like most humans. So Garrus is acutely aware now, and a little embarrassed when his previously stressed sub-vocals take on a new, entirely different tune in response to her attentiveness and concern. She can’t know what it means, of course, but it’s impossible to miss the far more relaxed and new pleased tone it takes, making him rather grateful his species cannot blush so easily as hers does.

“No,” he replies finally, shaking his head once more. “Thank you, Shepard, but you’ve done enough for me already.”

“Anything for you, and any time, Garrus,” she promises sincerely with a small smile at him as they step out of the cab and begin to make their way back to the Normandy.

“Anything except letting me kill Sidonis,” he points out before he can stop himself, though he immediately regrets it, seeing the way she frowns and suddenly shrinks a little. He doesn’t mean it, even if he is still working through it all.

“Are you angry with me,” she asks, turning to look at him with concern.

“I- No,” he replies finally. “No,” he repeats a little more firmly. “I’m not angry. Maybe a little at first, but- I understand.”

“That wasn’t you, Garrus. I know you want justice for what happened to your team, but killing him like that… you don’t come back from that the same. And I- maybe it was a bit selfish on my part,” she acknowledges, “but I didn’t want to lose you.”

"Shepard,” Garrus says, just a little bit breathless in the face of the earnestness of her confession. She doesn’t lie to him. Doesn’t say anything that isn’t thought out or she doesn’t mean. The thought that he could be as important to her, that the idea of losing him would be as devastating to her as the last two years without her were for him… no amount of training, even if he had the inclination to apply himself to it, would ever help conceal the way his subharmonics positively trill with gratitude, with loyalty, with love for this woman.

“Yes?”

“You’re a one of a kind,” the Turian manages finally, shaking his head with a smile.


End file.
